Without Repair
by PrinceHoggle
Summary: Who would meet Severus Snape in death?


**Title**: Without Repair_ (probably not the best title, but oh well.)_

**Author**: me

**Rating**: T

**Warnings**: Well, Severus is dead. Oh, and if you dislike faith in a higher being, you won't like this. gosh darn it, these things look lots longer in word...

**Summery**: Who would meet Severus Snape at death?

**Disclaimer**: 70 years after everyone dies, people can legally make money from this. At that time, I will probably still be the last person to take credit.

* * *

Severus Snape found himself in the nine and three quarters train station the day he died. He looked around at the empty benches, the empty train, anywhere but the weathered figure that was standing in front of him. This man was the man who would send him to hell, because the man who stood there must hate him. The man whose eyes had met Severus' as that man had said, "_please, Severus,_" and Severus had said _avada cadavra_.

"You're very much alike, you and our Harry."

There was a pounding at the back of his eyes, but that was the onset of a nasty headache, most likely from the shock of being dead. And the constricting of his throat was neither here nor there.

"Every person is given the sight that is most comfortable to them, the place that symbolizes great change for the better. This is to calm them, and prepare them for the inevitable. I find it fitting that you should have the same sight, the same person," and here the man motioned to himself, "as young Harry."

Severus swallowed. "You're not Albus." Was that the best he could do? State the obvious?

The Not-Albus took off his glasses and sighed. "No, I'm not. But I believe you would like me to stay this way."

For the first time since Severus' father had taken him over the knee for not staying still, Severus had the urge to fidget. He looked towards the Albus-imposter and tried to breathe properly.

"You have a choice, Severus Snape."

The black haired man stiffened. "Between what? Going back to that hell?" his arm flailed in the direction behind him and fell back to his side. "Or head on to another?" he gestured feebly towards the train in front of him.

The Albus-that-wasn't looked sad. Severus didn't care. "There is no hell except that of your own making." It said this like it had imparted some bright jewel of knowledge and truth whose value had been disregarded for an eternity.

"You think I _asked_ to be put in that hell back there? You think that I wouldn't have run if I'd had the choice?" With the Dark Lord's brand and leash tattooed on his arm, there was no 'hide,' just as there was no 'live' when he stayed at the man's side.

"You may not have seen it, but you always had a choice, my son. A decision—"

"I AM NOT YOUR BLOODY _SON_!" There was a brief and heavy silence, broken only by Severus's heavy breathing. All the sudden, the situation struck him as funny- the second outbreak of juvenility and weakness in his adult life. "And I'm not a coward," he whispered. And, damn it all, when had he started crying?

The Albus-thing looked like it was crying too. Severus noticed idly that where the really Albus's hand had been blackened and gnarled; this Albus's hand was healthy. Bastard.

"You have a choice, Severus Snape," it said again. Severus looked at it incredulously, and his whole body shuddered.

"Must I?" He felt pathetically tired; he didn't want to choose now.

"You can ether stay in your old world as a mere shadow of what you were, or you can accompany me to the next." These words sounded as if they had been said for centuries to every man woman or child who had passed. They probably had.

"What happens if I go forward?" Severus asked, dreading the answer. He had killed innocents. He had betrayed everyone, and he had killed the only two people who had loved him. Surely, he was destined to hell. Severus did not think _anyone_ could redeem him now.

"For you? Only you can answer that. You could damn yourself to hell or heaven, it is your choice. Live or die, it has always been your choice." Severus wondered which choice constituted living and which meant dyeing. He supposed that if hell was waiting for him at the end of the tracks, going back would be living.

Severus looked up into doppledanger-Albus's eyes, and when had the real Albus been that tall? "May I just…" he felt tired mortally tired. "May I just lie down for a minute?"

A sad "_of course, Severus,_" Was the last thing he heard.


End file.
